


All Roads Lead to Where We Stand

by kee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Established Relationship, M/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kee/pseuds/kee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds a new definition of normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Roads Lead to Where We Stand

**Author's Note:**

> For rejeneration.

After Stanford, after normal disappears in a ball of flame, Sam locks himself down tight. 

If he lets himself feel, the guilt will swallow him, the grief will bring him to his knees. The laughing college senior who aced the LSAT dies with Jess. Only the hunter remains.

The funeral passes in a haze. Sam watches as his bright future is covered in graveyard dirt, Dean standing silent at his side. They hang around Palo Alto only long enough to be sure that Jessica is truly at rest.

Sam slams the trunk shut, his thoughts on retribution. He’s got one mission, now. Find Dad. Find whatever killed the mother he never knew and the girl he loved. 

Everything else falls away as he narrows his focus to a single goal.

Revenge.

Sam becomes the thing he swore he’d never be. He becomes his father’s son. 

\+ | | + | | +

They take to sparring daily.

According to Dean, it’s to get Sam back into shape, but they both know Sam needs something to pound on. They don’t talk about it. Just like they don’t talk about the nightmares when Sam wakes gasping Jessica’s name. How Dean is there in the dark to sooth the tremors away and turn them into a different sort of shaking. His hand warm and sure on Sam’s cock as he whispers, “Shhh, Sammy. It’s okay. I’m here.” 

Come morning, Dean is always in his own bed or at the table reading the paper, and the night before is just another dream. They fall back into what they used to be. But it doesn’t mean anything. Nothing means anything. Not anymore.

A week after California, Dean drops his guard, maybe on accident, maybe just checking to see what Sam will do. Sam spots the opening and lands a wicked right hook. The momentary surge of satisfaction he feels falters at the look on Dean’s face. Surprised, yes. But also _hurt_. 

It’s gone as fast as it came. Dean relaxes his stance and steps back. “Not supposed to do actual damage here, dude.”

“Sorry.”

Dean shrugs it off, like Sam knew he would.

Once upon a time, Dean and the way Sam felt about him meant nothing but chaos and confusion. The reason Sam had to leave, the reason he wanted to stay. Now, Dean is the only thing that makes sense. Sam finds what small amount of security he has in his brother’s constancy, his predictability. Dean is the soldier, the everyman. All ego and id, Dean is as transparent as the Impala’s windshield, as base as his crass pick up lines.

Dean will always put his family first. He will always take whatever Sam throws at him. He will always tell their father _yes, sir_. 

He is utterly and completely known to Sam, while Sam keeps so much hidden. It skews the balance between them and makes Sam feel like he has the upper hand.

They look for John. They hunt. They eat their meals at back road diners and spend their nights in cheap motels. Sam’s knee-deep in a life he thought he’d left far behind. Dean seems to love every minute of it and Sam can’t help hating him for it, just a little bit. He’ll never understand how it’s all so simple for Dean, why he doesn’t want more.

But then, as they move from town to town, the wheels eat the asphalt and the road starts telling Dean’s secrets. 

And Sam figures out he doesn’t know his brother as well as he thought he did.

\+ | | + | | +

It starts in Colorado.

Sam is impatient. Dad’s not here. The girl’s brother is probably dead already and he doesn’t see the goddamned point. 

There is understanding in Dean’s eyes when he tells Sam there’s no way Hayley’s sitting this one out, disappointment when he realizes that Sam doesn’t get it. 

That night, Dean scrawls symbols in the dirt as protection against the wendigo. Sam sits away from the others, but Dean won’t let him be. Sam wants to be alone, wants to be angry. Dean’s not having it.

In the flickering light of the campfire, Dean is electric as he holds the journal reverently and says, “ _This_ is why. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.”

Sam glances over to where Hayley sits close to the one brother she’s sure she has left. 

There’s a chance he didn’t see the point because he wasn’t looking hard enough.

\+ | | + | | +

In Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin, there’s a spirit in the water and a boy who doesn’t speak.

And Dean, who never shuts up, seems comfortable with the silence. Seems to know exactly what to say. Exactly what to do. Sam knows firsthand that his brother’s got his fair share of experience dealing with recalcitrant little boys, but this goes beyond that.

Sam watches him with Lucas. Listens as Dean crouches down and softly tells Lucas he understands. 

“I was scared, too.”

And that stings more than a little bit; because it’s a truth he never would have spoken directly to Sam.

\+ | | + | | +

The nightmares don’t stop, but Dean coming to Sam when they’re over does. Part of Sam wonders why, part of him already knows. It’s never been right, it’s always been jacked. It will never get either one of them anywhere. Momentary forgetfulness in the dark, that’s all it is. Proximity, co-dependence, need. Sam's never said “no”, but he’ll be damned if he _asks_.

They’re in Pennsylvania and Sam’s been up since three, alternately watching infomercials and the curve of Dean’s back as he breathes deeply in sleep. By five, he’s feeling twitchy, so he makes a coffee run. Dean rouses when Sam returns, comes to full awareness at Sam’s, “Morning, Sunshine.”

Dean asks about the dreams and they pretend he doesn’t already know, like he can’t read every hitch of Sam’s breath in the middle of the night.

Some guy Dad and Dean helped in the past calls and they’re off to investigate what looks to be a haunted airplane. Two fake ID’s reading “Homeland Security” and a couple of black suits later, they’re checking out the wreckage in an otherwise empty hangar. Dean pulls a device from his pocket at flips it on.

Sam has to ask. “What is that?”

“It’s an EMF meter. It reads electromagnetic frequencies.”

“Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is. But why does that one look like a busted up Walkman?”

Dean is smiling proudly. “Cause that’s what I made it out of. It’s homemade.”

On any other day, Sam might be proud too. But today, he’s operating on three hours of sleep and he can’t seem to shake the image of Dean sprawled face down on the motel bed. His response is more cutting than he intends. “Yeah. I can see that.”

And there’s that look again – the same one Dean wore when Sam’s knuckles connected with his jaw with more force than was expected. Or necessary.

Sam is shocked at the realization that he’s actually hurt Dean. They’ve been flipping each other shit since Sam learned to talk. Just how many other times has Sam carelessly crossed the line and not even been aware of it? 

The practiced way Dean shakes it off and gets back to work tells Sam that it’s probably more times than he wants to know.

\+ | | + | | +

Sam sees Jess standing on a street corner in Toledo, Ohio. He blinks and she’s gone.

They’re leaving town, another ghost vanquished, another girl saved. But nothing makes up for the girl Sam couldn’t save. His head aches with a killing combination of guilt and the after effects of their encounter with Bloody Mary.

Dean offers to take the blame for Jessica, but Sam blames himself. He wasn’t ever honest. Not about who he was, or what he saw or how he felt. 

He thinks about secrets and how they can kill.

And he can’t help but wonder why Dean’s eyes bled, too.

\+ | | + | | +

The shape shifter tells Sam truths that aren’t his to tell. And even though it’s a violation, a perversion, Sam can’t forget the things he learns in that St. Louis sewer.

Dean has issues with Sam and dreams of his own. Dean is jealous. 

Dean is afraid that everyone he loves will leave him.

Why should any of that come as a surprise?

\+ | | + | | +

Somewhere in middle America, they start finishing each other’s sentences.

A preacher’s daughter flirts with Sam in Iowa. The next week, a realtor in Oklahoma mistakes Sam and Dean for lovers. The moment is awkward and fraught until Dean visibly relaxes. The sly grin on his face has Sam feeling anxious. Dean slaps Sam’s ass and saunters away, leaving Sam to deal with the now blushing agent.

They move from hunt to hunt, sometimes finding them on their own, sometimes following John’s lead. They wind their way across the country, working together more and more smoothly with each monster they face. There’s a rhythm to the two of them together when they hunt, a synchronization of thought and motion. It could be new or it could be that it was always there before, just lost in the noise of John’s domineering personality.

They’re a team now. Partners. Sam starts to think that maybe this is something he can do for a while and not hate every minute of it. 

Then Sam’s visions take him somewhere he never thought he’d go.

They take him home.

\+ | | + | | +

Dean tries to treat it like any other case, but it’s not. They’re in Lawrence, Kansas. The place their mother died. The place where it all began. Sam can tell that being here is tough for Dean. There’s a vulnerability Sam hasn’t seen before, tiny hairline fractures in Dean’s façade. Cracks that widen to fissures as they stand in their old kitchen and listen to Jenny’s story.

Sam’s heartbeat increases with every detail Jenny reveals. There are flickering lights and sounds of scratching in the walls. A little girl who dreams of a monster in her closet. A monster that’s on fire.

It can’t be coincidence.

This could be it, the thing they’ve been after, and it’s all Sam can do to force himself to step back and talk things out objectively with Dean. He blows out a breath and takes it from the top. “How much do you actually remember?”

He’s listening to his brother with a hunter’s ear, hoping for some new piece of the puzzle that will make everything clearer. What he gets rocks him back on his feet and sheds a blinding light on not just that night, but Sam’s entire childhood.

Dean had carried him out. How could Sam not have known that? Four years old and Dean had _saved_ him.

Sam takes Dean’s protectiveness for granted. The life they lead, the father they have, the simple fact that Dean’s the “big brother” – it’s always felt natural to have Dean looking out for him. But this is something completely different.

This is Sam, safe in Dean’s hands since the very beginning.

\+ | | + | | +

Dad texts coordinates to Rockford, Illinois. Dean cross-references Rockford to the journal and finds Roosevelt Asylum. Sam’s got his doubts, but they’re on the road the next morning anyway.

It’s just like usual. Dad says _jump_ , Dean asks _how high_. But Sam always wants to know _why_.

He’s already frustrated when they start to investigate the hospital, already a little bit pissed off. Dean won’t stop teasing him about the visions and Sam’s irritation escalates.

They flesh out the back-story and wait until nightfall to hit the hospital. And since nothing ever goes as planned, of course they run into a pair of teenagers checking out the local legend. Kat thinks Dean is Sam’s boss, and seriously, fuck that.

By the time they split up to check things out, Sam is a powder keg ready to blow.

And Ellicott’s spirit is the match.

It’s like an out-of-body experience, watching someone who looks like himself take aim on Dean and pull the trigger. The force of the shotgun blast blows Dean through the dilapidated wall and onto his back. It’s all a blur after that.

Sam comes to with a sore jaw and a vague recollection of spewing out every petty resentment he’s ever held against his brother. He can hear the word _pathetic_ echoing through the dank room.

Oh, God. He actually _shot Dean_. If the Colt had been loaded…

Dean’s tone is rueful. “You’re not gonna try to kill me, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. ‘Cause that would be awkward.”

It’s Dean at his smart-ass best, and for a minute, Sam thinks they’re fine. He was possessed by Ellicott’s spirit. It wasn’t him who said or did those things. Dean _knows_ that. Dean knows Sam didn’t mean any of it.

But Dean brushes his apology off, doubt in every rigid line of his posture.

They’re a million miles away from fine.

\+ | | + | | +

The next time they fight, there’s no ghost to blame. It’s all Sam. Or more precisely, it’s Sam’s unwillingness to follow John’s orders without question running head-on into Dean’s blind loyalty. The Winchester family dynamic, putting the _fun_ in dysfunctional since 1983.

Sam’s more than a little tired of it. He wants answers and he wants revenge, and he’s not afraid to say so, even if Dean thinks it makes him a selfish bastard.

Sam won’t find what he’s looking for in Burketsville, Indiana. Dad’s in California, so that’s where he’s going. With or without Dean. He watches the Impala pull away, then turns and heads west.

He walks straight through until morning, meets a spitfire blonde by the side of the road and gets put firmly in his place. He finally catches a ride and tries very hard not to think about Dean or what he might be walking into without back up.

Sam can’t stop playing with his phone. He worries it like a rosary; scrolling back and forth across Dean’s number, thumb hovering over the “send” button. Each mile that passes brings him closer to his goal, but farther away from Dean. The righteous satisfaction he felt last night fades, leaving vague unease in its place.

Running into Meg again, hearing her story about her smothering family, is just the distraction he needs. But it only lasts for a little while. Two hours later, Meg falls asleep and Sam finally pushes “send.”

Dean seems happy to hear from him and the sound of his voice as he talks about the case wraps Sam in a feeling of comfort. It reminds him sharply of those first days at Stanford, how he had to quit taking Dean’s calls because talking to Dean was a siren’s song, luring Sam back. Dean meant _home_ , Dean meant _safe_. But Dean would never mean _normal_ and Sam wanted normal more.

Sam can tell Dean’s fumbling his way toward an apology, so he jumps into spare him the chick flick moment. “Yeah. I’m sorry too.” He thinks that will be the end of it, but Dean’s apparently in a caring and sharing sort of mood.

The unspoken apology segues into a fully vocalized, “You were right,” followed by, “I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

It leaves Sam at a total loss. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Dean’s tone is affectionate, but edged with a finality that sends Sam’s pulse skittish. “Say you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

Dean tells him to call when he finds Dad and hangs up. And even though he didn’t say the actual words, Sam feels Dean’s good-bye to his bones. Sam’s been absolved and sent on his way with Dean’s blessing.

His brother is letting him go.

For all the times Sam’s wished for this moment, to be free of the chains that tangle him to his family, he feels strangely hollow. There’s an ache in chest and a lump in his throat. He’s suddenly, irrationally, afraid that he’ll never see Dean again.

He ignores Meg’s questions and hits redial on his phone. Dean doesn’t pick up. It goes like that for the next few hours, Sam calling at fifteen-minute increments and getting no answer. The twelfth time he gets Dean’s voicemail, Sam grabs his bags and heads for the parking lot looking for a car that’s easy to hot-wire with a lot of leg room.

In Burketsville, he finds Dean tied to a tree, but relatively unharmed. Dean’s laugh when he finds out about the stolen car makes the risk of a felony arrest worth it. When he says, “That’s my boy,” something inside of Sam clicks into place.

They torch the tree and put Emily on the first bus to Boston. As it pulls out of the terminal, Sam thinks fleetingly of California and the answers he was hoping to find there. He still wants them and he _will_ have them, but not at the cost of his brother. He understands, in a way he didn’t before, how he and Dean are all that’s really left.

They’ll see this thing through together.

\+ | | + | | +

At two o’clock in the morning, Sam wakes shaking and sweating and on the verge of tears. He sits up fast and looks over to where Dean is already stirring.

“Sammy? You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure you are. Jess again?”

Sam shakes his head and scrubs his hands across his face. “I’m fine, man. Go back to sleep.”

Dean’s feet are on the floor between their beds and he’s leaning in Sam’s direction as if that’s where his body wants to go. “Sam?”

And maybe Sam’s damned after all, because it wasn’t Jess he just saw dying in vivid Technicolor. And it’s not Jess he’s afraid of losing. Jess is gone. But Dean is here and Sam is _asking_.

“Please.”

Sam holds the edge of the covers up and Dean slides in without a word.

\+ | | + | | +

Sam knows enough about fear to write a dissertation. It feels like he’s been living with it every day of his life. Every supernatural thing they face is just another chance to get hurt – or worse. He tries to turn his anxiety to his benefit, use it to keep himself sharp.

He thinks he’s come to terms.

Finding Dean unconscious on a wet basement floor rips that illusion away. When the doctor says that Dean’s heart is permanently damaged, that he’s got a month to live if he’s lucky, Sam learns what real fear is about.

He could lose Dean forever. That’s a whole new level of terror.

They’ve been apart before, by Sam’s own choice. But being away isn’t anything near being _without_. And Sam can’t even wrap his mind around the possibility.

Dean is eerily calm and his acceptance only infuriates Sam. Medical science may not have any help to offer, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to be done. For once in their fucked-up lives, Sam is going to make what they know and what they do work to their advantage. There has to be something to save Dean – a spell or a charm – _something_.

Back at the motel, he calls every contact in Dad’s journal. No one knows where John is, but Sam gets a lead on a faith healer in Nebraska. He leaves a halting message for his father, knowing even as he does he probably won’t hear back. He’s chewing on his thumbnail, planning the quickest route to Roy LaGrange when there’s a knock at the door.

Dean looks like shit, but the sight of him still brings a surge of happiness.

Dean checking himself out of the hospital AMA isn’t entirely surprising. The way that he allows Sam to take him by the elbow and lead him toward the bed without complaint most definitely is. They don’t speak as Sam removes Dean’s shoes and then his own. A gentle shove has Dean lying down, Sam settling in next to him. They’re so close that when Sam turns his head, the tip of his nose brushes the hair above Dean’s ear.

Sam raises a hesitant hand and places his palm flat above Dean’s fragile heart.

Dean closes his eyes. “Sam.”

“Shhh. Let me okay? Just let me.”

Dean sighs and grants Sam permission with a slight affirmative tilt of his head. Sam slides his hand to Dean’s opposite hip and pulls him into the curve of his own body. This isn’t how they usually are. They don’t do this, touch for simply the pleasure of being close. Tenderness isn’t in the Winchester vocabulary, but anything else would be a sacrilege tonight.

They lie quietly as Dean drifts toward sleep and Sam keeps watch, counting each labored breath.

“Joshua gave me the name of a specialist in Nebraska.”

Dean smirks slightly, but doesn’t open his eyes. “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?”

Sam laughs because he can’t cry. “I’m not gonna let you die, period.”

\+ | | + | | +

After the Reaper, there’s a noticeable strain between them. Dean’s still reeling from the knowledge that Marshall Hall died in his place and still resenting Sam for taking him to Roy LaGrange.

Sam tries to let Dean’s anger roll past him. He wouldn’t have chosen for it to go down the way it did, but he can’t bring himself to regret it. If he’d known going in, he still would have done the same thing.

At a diner in Texas, he’s finally had it with the silent treatment. Dean’s shoveling eggs into his mouth like it’s his last meal simply to avoid talking to Sam and enough is enough already.

Sam goes for the jugular, quick and clean. “What if it had been me?”

Dean’s eyes widen and he swallows hard.

“If it had been me, you’d have done _anything_ , Dean. So, do me favor and just knock it off, okay?”

Dean doesn’t answer, doesn’t even nod, but things get a little better after that.

\+ | | + | | +

Cassie Robinson is gorgeous and smart and takes zero shit from Dean. Basically, she’s the last woman on Earth Sam would picture Dean going for.

Sam wants to like her, but he can’t quite manage it. Just being in the same room with the two of them sets his teeth on edge. It’s not that Dean fucked her, it’s that he _told_ her.

He loved her.

Loved her, told her, had his heart broken by her. She isn’t some one-night stand to add to list. She’s the girl Dean might have stayed for.

And Sam’s not jealous. He’s _not_.

He’s not pacing the motel room, watching the clock, or running his hands through his hair as their seven o’clock dinner date stretches past midnight and into wee hours of the morning. 

He’s not imagining them together, the arch of Dean’s back or the sound of her sigh.

Except for how he totally is.

An hour past daybreak, Sam meets Dean at the site of the latest “accident.” He stays strictly in little brother mode, teasing Dean about where he’s been, consciously ignoring the telltale signs of how Dean spent the night. He does pretty well with it, that is until he sees the purple mark, low on his brother’s neck.

They head back to the motel and when they get there, Dean goes straight for the shower. And that works for Sam because he’s fairly certain he can smell Cassie all over Dean.

And it’s not driving him crazy. It’s not.

Dean comes out of the bathroom, barefoot and shirtless, jeans half undone. He’s running a towel through his wet hair and something in Sam just snaps. He doesn’t remember crossing the room, but he must have, because the towel’s on the floor and Sam has Dean pressed against the wall, not a centimeter of space between them.

Dean’s not fighting him, but there’s defiance in the line of his jaw. “What the hell, Sam?”

Sam’s left hand grips Dean’s hip while his right comes to rest on the curve of Dean’s neck, thumb pressing down on Cassie’s mark. “You had sex with her.”

“So what? Not the first, won’t be the last. Why the fuck do you care?”

“You loved her.”

“You were gone, Sam. You left and you didn’t look back. What was I supposed to do?” 

The words _wait for me_ jump to the tip of Sam’s tongue, but he bites down to stop them from hitting the air.

Dean relaxes in Sam’s hold. His tone is soft, almost indulgent, as he continues. “You went to college. You met a girl. You fell in love. You were happy, Sam. Don’t I get to have that, too?”

Deep down, where Sam can be petty and selfish and stubborn, the smallest part of him is screaming _no_. Because Dean is his, even when’s Sam’s pretending he doesn’t want him, pretending he can live without him.

Sam shakes his head. He can’t find the words and words have never really worked for them anyway. He lets his body speak for him, grinding his pelvis into Dean’s. They’re both already hard. The sound of Sam unzipping Dean’s fly is like a starter’s pistol.

Sam sinks to his knees, pulling Dean’s Levi’s down his legs as he goes. “Do you want me to stop?” Dean closes his eyes and throws his head back, hitting the wall with a soft thump. Sam takes that as a “no.”

Holding Dean’s cock in his hand, all he can think is _mine_.

And that feeling that isn’t jealousy? Sam swallows it down the same time he swallows Dean.

\+ | | + | | +

Saginaw brings a series a painful firsts and stunning revelations.

It’s the first time Sam dreams of something or someone not connected to his family. His first waking vision. The first time he moves something with his mind.

The amount of things he has in common with Max Miller scare the shit out of him. It all points to something much larger than just his mother’s death and the thing that killed her. He can’t shake the feeling he’s a bit player in a grander plan. He and Max were chosen for something, but the question is what.

Max Miller is Sam’s cautionary tale, his _there but for the grace of God go I_. Sam’s visions are a turn on a dark road. He’ll have to be very careful where they take him.

And he doesn’t really believe it when Dean says, “As long as I’m around, nothing bad’s gonna happen to you.” 

But he wants to.

That has to count for something.

\+ | | + | | +

Dealing with the Benders is like being dropped smack in the middle of some crazy hybrid of _Deliverance_ and _Motel Hell_.

They put two hundred miles between them and Hibbing before Sam pulls off to get a look at Dean’s shoulder. He cracks open the first aid kit while Dean gingerly removes his shirt and leans against the bathroom counter.

The wound is angry, already blistered and filled with fluid. Sam keeps his touch as light as possible, cleansing it carefully before applying the burn cream. Dean stays silent, barely even flinches. He’s been quiet since they left Deputy Hudack at the Bender’s place. _Too_ quiet.

Sam tapes a square of gauze over the burn. “You’re not still pouting, are you?”

“What?”

Sam smirks. “Sidelined by a thirteen year old girl, Dean.”

“Yeah. No. That’s not…” Dean looks down and away.

Sam’s gut clenches. He thought it was just the shoulder and a crack to head, but the way Dean’s acting, there’s got to be more. “Are you hurt anywhere else? What did they do to you, Dean?”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

“They didn’t hurt me.” Dean shrugs. “Well, not more than you’ve already seen.”

“They did _something_.” Sam knows it. The trick is getting Dean to talk about it.

Dean shakes his head, so Sam pushes harder. “Tell me.”

“They made me choose, okay? They made me choose who they would hunt.”

“And you chose me?”

There’s a slow nod from Dean, but he still doesn’t look away from the cracked linoleum floor. “I heard a gunshot, and I thought….”

Sam raises his hand and lifts Dean’s chin until their gazes meet. “You made the right choice, man. And for the record? There wasn’t a single moment in that cage where I didn’t know you were coming for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You did good, Dean.”

Dean blows out a breath. “Whatever. People. Fucking crazy, I’m telling you.”

Sam can’t argue with that.

\+ | | + | | +

Sam lets his mouth get ahead of his brain in Chicago, leaving Dean shredded and bleeding out on the floor.

Demons and daevas have _nothing_ on him.

He gets caught up in the moment, lost in the excitement of finally being close to the finish line. It’s habit more than anything that has him talking about going back to school, stubbornness that makes him argue when Dean says things could be the same.

“I don’t want them to be.”

He doesn’t stop to consider how it sounds until he sees the look on Dean’s face. Sam’s never seen so much pain, not even when Dean was _dying_.

Dean covers it quickly, expression smoothing to total blankness as he takes a step back like he’s moving out of striking range. “Okay, then.”

“Dean.”

“No. I get it, Sam. You don’t want to hunt. You don’t want this life.”

 _You don’t want me_.

Sam flounders, because that’s not what he _meant_. He doesn’t want to leave Dean, but he’s never seen a way they could stay together for the long haul. This thing between them – it’s not natural. It has no place in a real life. And even if he takes that out of the equation, there’s no way Sam can go back to being under John’s thumb, just a soldier in their army of three.

But he can’t leave it like this either. He broke it, now it’s his job to fix it. He steps up and grabs Dean’s arm before he can pull away. Sam only intends to make Dean understand, but there’s so much repressed emotion floating in the air, the flare of heat between them is inevitable.

Dean sucks in a breath and Sam goes still. “Dean, please.”

“Please, what, Sammy? One more for the road, maybe? Could be our last chance, you know. This could all be over tonight. That’s what you want, right?”

The bitterness makes Sam nauseous. Dean smiles without humor and pulls away. Sam thinks _that’s it_ , but Dean’s moving to his duffle and rummaging around in the side pocket. He drops a condom and the lube in the center of the bed. “C’mon, then.”

Sam’s shaking his head even as Dean’s taking off his shirt and reaching for his fly. “Not like this.”

“Like what?”

Like the night before Sam left for Stanford, that’s what – Dean offering himself up as some sort of sacrifice, Sam with one foot out the door. Sam won’t do that again, not to himself and not to his brother. It almost killed him the last time. “ _You_ don’t want this, Dean.”

“I already told you what I want, Sam. And you told me I couldn’t have it.”

_I don’t want you to leave the second this is over._

_You’re gonna have to let me go my own way._

Dean shrugs. “So, maybe I’ll just settle for what I can get. I’ve gotten kind of good at that.”

He may as well be speaking Portuguese for all that Sam understands. “Why would you do that? Settle for less than what you want?”

“You really are an idiot. Maybe you _should_ go back to college.”

All of a sudden, Sam feels like he’s tipping on the knife-edge of realization. Like the next thing that Dean says will turn everything around, make everything right.

Dean’s cheeks are flushed, but his shoulders are squared as he looks Sam in the eye. “I love you, you fucking moron. _That’s_ why.”

It’s not like Sam didn’t know on some level, but to actually hear Dean say it – it changes everything. His response is involuntary. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” 

Dean's smile lifts Sam right up. But – 

“It’s not normal.”

“It’s our normal, Sammy.”

And fuck if it’s not _exactly_ that simple. Sam takes two steps and tumbles his brother onto the bed, following him down. Dean is the bravest person Sam knows. That’s why Sam’s been trailing after him his entire life.

All he ever needs is for Dean to lead the way.

\+ | | + | | +

There’s a shtriga in Fitchburg, Wisconsin that’s unfinished business.

Michael asks, “You’d do anything for your brother?”

Dean says, “I would.”

And Sam thinks, _I would too._

 

_End_


End file.
